Well, she can guess what to do with that!

She puts in the headphones attached to her tapedeck, and, setting her gun down on the barrel, picks up the tape and inserts it into the deck.

On the tape is a man's voice, giving some kind of message:

When the Mindkill comes, you will likely have forgotten everything about your own life before entering the post-Mindkill environment. But everything that has become intuition, everything you've made a part of your inner self, the Threat is unable to erase. Therefore it's important to train until the training becomes so natural that you give it no thought. Correct usage of your firearm has to become as natural as breathing for there to be any chance of success. 

…

The man's voice sounds vaguely familiar, as do the words. Has she heard this before?

No, wait, not important. She rewinds the tape and listens again, it's the content that matters here.

That disk before said the Mindkill was imminent. That means either it's about to happen, or it has happened.

If this tape and that disk are from the same source… Can she remember anything about her life?

No.

Well, that's more than a bit terrifying, but at least it answers that question.

If the tape is to be believed, the Mindkill has happened, the Threat has erased her memories, and all she has left are her trained instincts, alongside whatever she can glean from the world around her.

And the tapes. The tapes feel important.

She clearly knows how to use this gun, and she clearly knows to avoid the turrets' lights. She wonders what else she knows…

Well, only one way to find out: She'd better go explore more!

Picking up her gun, she turns back to the dead turret. Can she scavenge any bullets from this? They won't fit this revolver, but they might be worth collecting anyway.

It certainly has a small belt of .22 cartridges. She can pry the rounds loose from the wrecked machine and pocket them if she wants.

…

……Fuck it, she can always grab them later if she needs them. She doesn't actually want to carry around a bunch of otherwise-useless rounds.

Alright, next, clear the area: Is there anything in the shed opposite the catwalks?

Lots of shelves, with a paint roller and tray, some plywood, some sealed boxes, and a small cardboard box sitting open, eight cartridges for her revolver sitting inside.

Perfect!

She grabs the cartridges.

Now is a good time to reload, too: Popping the cylinder out, she knocks the spent cartridge onto the ground and collects the rest, refilling the revolver fully this time and leaving one full cylinder's worth of cartridges aside in her pocket.

She pops the cylinder back into place and lets her arm fall to her side, gun in hand. It feels so much better to have a full cylinder.

Turning back, she makes her way out along the catwalk.

There are some messily stacked shipping containers below her. Ahead, she can see an open threshold, and through it a metal scaffold and a large skylight.

She continues through the threshold, keeping a wary eye and ear out for anything out of the ordinary.

This place really is massive. She can look down from the catwalk as far as her eyes will strain and not see the start of the buildings anywhere, and no matter far out she looks, it's nothing but a sea of them out to the horizon. It's a good thing she—apparently—isn't afraid of heights, or this would be a lot more difficult.

The first thing she notices when she crosses onto this next gravel-topped rooftop is—

BEEP!

A blue light snaps on to her left, pointed right at her.

Fuckfuckfuck!

She rapidly backpedals, falling onto her backside on the catwalk, firearm held in front of her in both shaking hands.

After a second, it starts panning back and forth, from a good angle on the threshold she just departed, to one hundred twenty degrees left of that, and then back.

Hhahhhhhhh-

Her breath is coming fast and shallow now, but she struggles to calm down, still sitting there as her heart pounds in her chest.

…It takes a minute, but she gets her breathing under control, and after that, her heart.

Slowly, she picks herself up off of the ground, lowers her gun to her side, and pats herself off with her other hand.

Note to self: Do not let your guard down.

She makes her way back over to the threshold, keeping behind it as she watches the blue light pan there… then back… then there… then—

—She turns the corner—quickly but carefully—and aims her gun at the thick front of the turret, where the light comes from: It's a larger target than the battery, and it should be enough.

Carefully she exhales…

Holds…

(Gods, this is terrifying, but she has to be sure—)

…And fires.